There should be room for the box in my car. It’s a lot bigger than I expected. Might have to rethink that one.
“So Gilly and Piet will bring the food to the office at about nine?” Moira asks. The sky, seen through the window behind her, is nearly fully light. It’s time I got going.
“Yup. And the banner. And, if they remember, some balloons.”
I look up at her.
“I confess to being a bit doubtful about this. He’s always refused any birthday celebrations or fuss, hasn’t he? Even in the last couple of years, since… He still doesn’t like to be the centre of attention. What if he hates it? It’ll be spectacularly embarrassing for all concerned.”
Her habitual gentle smile passes over the top of my head, and I can see that in her mind she’s going through a journey in time.
“I’m confident that won’t be the case, my love. He will, of course, tell us we shouldn’t have bothered, but he won’t mean it. Not now. His last two birthdays we’ve deliberately underplayed with a couple of small gifts and a family meal out so no real fuss has been made. It is true that there was a time when I was resigned to the fact that his twenty-first would slide past unwanted and unnoticed just like all the others before and Charles and I would feel like we’d failed him.”
“But you haven’t! And he knows that, Moira. He loves you both with all his heart.”
“We know that now, sweetie, we know that now. And I have the utmost faith that the past is the past. Whatever demons he lived with for being told as a child that we hated him and were going to kick him out of the family have been laid to rest. And he got this from another child, for Christ’s sake!”
I know what it did to him. He’s already told me. Told me about the weariness and depression that swamped him when he came round from the anaesthetic and realised he was all bandaged up but didn’t know the nature or extent of the injuries. The sight of the family gathered around the bed brought him to the conclusion that they’d had to drop whatever they’d been doing and traipse to the hospital out of duty and that he was potentially now going to become a serious burden on them. He lay there and instructed Charles to take the family home and leave him alone to either die or get put in a home. Charles sent Moira and Gill out of the ward and proceeded to inform him of the home truths. Cursed him and called him a stupid bastard and told him if he didn’t realise what he, Charles, and Moira and Gill had just gone through and if he’d never realised how much they wanted him in their lives then he was a fucking idiot who deserved to lose his leg. Then he broke down, horrified at what he’d said, and he begged forgiveness. They sat with hands clasped together on the sheet for over twenty minutes until Moira and Gill decided to find out what the hell they were up to.
So yes, now he will love that they, and I, have chosen to celebrate this milestone birthday and his life with him.
Okay. Here we go. We pick up and carry the solid cardboard box between us, using the cut-out hand slots, but once I’ve opened the passenger-side back door it’s very apparent that the two of us are not going to get it in without damaging something, including ourselves.
“Charles should’ve left you with the pick-up.”
Good old hindsight.
“It may be better in the front. The door is larger so there’s more space to get it in.”
“Here, here, what are you doing?” says a voice. George. He’s also carrying a box, but it’s a whole lot smaller and it’s wrapped in shiny blue and silver paper.
He tut-tuts, places his gift on the passenger seat with exaggerated care, runs around to the other side of the car and kneels on the back seat.
“In here,” he says, beckoning with both hands. With him pulling and us pushing, we achieve success. We position the box on the passenger side so I can still see through the rear windscreen. It shouldn’t matter really because it’s that early there’ll be virtually no traffic. And hopefully no cops.
“Thank you George. Much appreciated.”
He backs out of the offside door and then stays bent over, his hands on his knees, peering into the interior.
“But what is it?” he asks. “It is a very big box.”
Moira says, “A jumping saddle and stand. For when Nathan starts seriously competing with Bravo. Which I’ve told him he shall do. We had it fitted when he was off on site last week. It was your day off, George.”
“What’s in your box?”
I pick it up and give it a gentle shake but nothing moves inside. George goes, “Ah!” and takes it from me and places it back on top of the gift-wrapped VCR.
“It is a beer glass and it is called Nathan.”
Yes, that’s right. I’d forgotten. The grooms and Amai commissioned Gill to get it engraved in town a couple of weeks ago.
My gift to him is in my bag of course.
Is it? Check. I snatch it up off the floor of the footwell and scrabble around in it. Yes.
“What did you actually tell him when he left this morning, Moira? I saw him go. I was parked down the road by the Mhangirozas’ place with my car out of sight around the bend while I loitered in the trees opposite to give me a clear view of the Makuti entrance.”
“Sneaky. And I thought it was down to your accurate planning that you arrived literally a minute after he’d gone. I’ll have Jenny on the phone to me later about a suspicious car parked outside her house. No, I wished him happy birthday of course and said to him that we’d all get together over dinner and give him his presents. He didn’t really comment. He asked Charles if he was going to the site meeting and seemed a bit narked when Charles said no. Right, off you go.”
She gives me a kiss on the cheek.
“I’ll see you at the office at around twelve.”
*
Piet wants to stick the banner above the reception desk. He’s unrolled it and is breaking out the Stickistuff.
“Not over the painting,” I object and he goes, “Oh? What?” and glances up at it.
“I wasn’t going to cover the picture,” he says defensively.
“She means don’t even put the banner above it.”
Gill’s behind me and she gets what I mean.
“I love it,” I say. “Ever since I first saw it I’ve wanted to walk into it and follow those wheel tracks. Piet, that needs to go over the door to Nathan’s office.”
“Oh, okay, boss. Here, Debs, grab that end please?”
Debbie got back from her holiday on Monday. Her over-excitement about the plans for Nathan’s twenty-first birthday shrivelled up and blew away at roughly two o’clock on that day when he rolled in from site and took me out to a late lunch, but not before kissing me lingeringly up against the Land Cruiser in full view of the reception area. I don’t feel guilty.
At eleven forty-five Charles goes to the toilet, leaving me frowning over the reinforcement supplier’s latest invoice and the materials-on-site record submitted by Tom last week.
The phone on the desk gives its polite little three-blip ringtone. After a second’s hesitation I snatch up the receiver. I can take a message for him.
Debbie’s smooth telephone voice: “Charles, it’s Tom out at Hartley for you. I’ll put him through.”
Good – he’s probably giving notice that Nathan has left the site.
“Debbie, it’s Tessa. Charles is, um, indisposed. I’ll talk to Tom, thanks.”
That’ll be her indignation crackling in my ear and I swear that’s a growl I just heard. The smoothness has gone. She goes, “Oh. Right,” and there’s a clunk. Tom says tentatively, “Charles?”
“Hi, it’s Tessa. Has he left then?”
“He has. About five minutes ago. But, well, look, I’m not so sure he’s going back to the office. He was very frustrated with me that I kept him here at least half an hour longer than necessary and said he wasn’t bothered about checking the invert levels of the surface water outfall this week because it’s not on the critical path and then when I wound the meeting up I specifically asked him if he was headed back to HQ and he said um and ah a bit and didn’t answer directly but then he did say something about working a lot of extra hours last week and taking some time off in lieu.”
He takes a breath, then, “You might want to give him, what, an hour and a half or an hour and forty? If he’s not arrived then, try your house.”
*
One-thirty.
“Go on then, Tess,” sighs Gill. “Call home.”
Amai answers.
“Yes, Miss Tessa! Oh, Miss Tessa! Yes, he is here. He is here! Five minutes only. He is supposed to be with you all so why is he home? I said to him are you sick and he said no and I said why aren’t you at work then and he thought that was very funny Miss Tessa. He said now Boss Charles has made me in charge of him and telling him off for not doing his job and sorting him out. I didn’t know what to say, Miss Tessa! He has gone to his bedroom to change for horse riding. Shall I fetch him to the phone, Miss Tessa? You want to speak to him? Have you had the party yet? Was it early? Are you coming home too now?”
Even though they can’t hear Amai’s side of the conversation, Gill is groaning and Piet’s going, “Bloody typical.”
Amai lets me talk her down from her high state of excitement eventually. She vanishes for a few minutes. There’s a muffled conversation, then footsteps on the parquet floor and movement of the receiver.
“Have I been sacked for slacking? Shall I come and collect my stuff from the office?”
“You’re not taking this seriously. I’m disappointed.”
“I know, Kitten. You coming home soon? I might be out job hunting, although I have an inkling this is less about me skiving off early and more about some conspiracy I’ve not been party to. Would I be right? Amai’s in on it too. You are, aren’t you, Amai?”
“Ah! No!” she exclaims in the background and I hear more footsteps, receding this time.
“She’s a dreadful liar and an even worse actress. Moira’s not about, so I suspect she’s in on it. I’ll wait here then, shall I? And you can tell me exactly what’s going on.”
That’s the problem with surprise parties, hey? The most important person involved has no idea that the right place and the right time even exist.
*
You turn the signet ring around your finger a few times. Smile those warm, deep brown eyes at me.
“Are you still pissed off with me?”
“Seething. Can’t you tell?”
A burst of raucous laughter from the lounge. My nose comes within a few millimetres of yours on the way round. It’s… well… yes.
George, Justice and Matthew are squeezed together on the sofa. Lazarus is cross legged on the floor in front of them and Charles is seated opposite on the armchair next to the French doors. There seems to be a round of toasts going on, clinked beer bottles interspersed with the laughter. In the background, Sylvester’s following the discourse between Amai and Moira with his habitual respectful and attentive interest. Behind all this, softly, is Joan Baez lamenting the night they drove old Dixie down.
“Check out poor Sly,” you whisper. “I’m sure he’d rather be joining in the beer drinking but he doesn’t dare turn his back on Amai.”
It’s been almost unbearably hot today but now the heat has at least mellowed into something more comfortable. We face the pool again. Elbows on knees, you’re tweaking the ring, settling it back with the flat top uppermost and rubbing over the small, diamond-shaped garnet and the engraved lines with the ball of your left thumb.
“It’s a bit too big, isn’t it? I’ll get it re-sized in the week. Blame Gill and Charles. They measured his wedding ring and said I should get the same size.”
“Never get Charles’s advice on anything anyone would wear, Kitten. Moira’s your go-to for that kind of thing. And don’t fret. It will be just perfect. It’s by far the best birthday present I’ve ever had and I think you know it.”
Moira was the one who told me to check the size with Charles. And who sowed the seeds of the idea by telling me you’d lost the plain gold signet ring they gave you for your nineteenth birthday. So I blame all of them. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you love it. You chose the sapphire for me and I chose the garnet for you.
“In spite of the fact that you blew our plot out of the water today with your no-show, it’s turned out well, don’t you think? If we’d had our little office party like we’d planned, the grooms and Amai wouldn’t’ve had the chance to join in and celebrate with us. It would’ve all been a bit of a flop for them.”
You pick up the tankard from the step below and raise it, looking through it towards the soft, gleaming ripples caused by the splashing fountain water, then take a gulp and offer me the last few mouthfuls. The lager tastes bitter to me after the shandies I’ve been drinking but I drain the dregs anyway. The sky is no longer clear. Some cloud has crept up on us to blot out some of the constellations and to shroud the moon, although the moon’s still partially visible as if under a diaphanous and translucent veil. We came to sit on the edge of the patio to get some time to ourselves but we’ve got company. Noisy company. Hundreds of cicadas shrilling into the warm air in a never-ending chorus.
“Try out the new saddle tomorrow then? I’ll come over to watch of course. What time do you reckon you’ll be riding?”
It’s not too warm that I can’t shift up a little closer to watch you close your eyes. A day off work tomorrow, spent together. That’s what you’re thinking.
“Nine o’clock? Maybe half nine? We can set up the VCR with my TV afterwards if you can stay.”
Wide open eyes then, searching my face. “It’ll be getting pretty late now. You can stay all night as far as I’m concerned, but what about your folks?”
I could tell you my attitude to that, but it won’t be any reassurance because that’s not how you want things to be, either between us or between me and Mum and Dad. I’ve no idea what the time is and my blank left wrist is unenlightening. Why didn’t I put my watch on today? I take your left hand and draw it up to the space between us where the light from the living room has a better effect.
“Nearly ten-thirty. It’s fine. I told them I’d probably be home around midnight.”
I place your hand back down on the knee of your jeans but keep it covered with mine.
“Your parents have been remarkably accepting of my presence in your life and at their home, given that I’ve replaced Danny at very short notice. Do they like me? I just hope I’m reading them correctly and that they’re not freaking out because you’ve hooked up with the black sheep of the Owen family.”
How easy it is nowadays to forget about the lack of confidence and the self doubt. Even after a couple of years it’s still there. Under the surface. Well plastered over now, admittedly. There is, in me, this deep-seated, intuitive knowledge that it’s up to me now to eradicate it. Of all the people in your life who love you or not, I am the only one who can do it. That’s quite some responsibility.
“The truth is, they got taken by surprise, but they do trust me and to them you are a member of my best horsey friend’s family. It’s that simple. It’s taken them by surprise because I guess they were pretty much convinced that me and Danny were set for life, and because it apparently happened very suddenly and also because…”
Because the whole dynamic of this new relationship is so far beyond the one I’ve just abandoned.
“I just picked you up at a party?”
Oh yes, and it was the best night of my life so far.
“As my mother saw it initially, I suppose. But have no doubt I’ve set her straight. My father is easy to please. You’re able to talk to him about earthworks and foundations and that makes you more than acceptable to him. My mother might appear to require more work but I know she’s okay with it. She… But what about your mother? What do you think she would’ve had to say about it?”
I’m treading on new ground. I hope it’s not quicksand.
“I mean, if you want to… I don’t mean…”
You shake your head, silent, staring out across the garden. Then turn to me.
“You can ask, you know. It’s okay because my life is your life, or at least that’s how I’d like it to be. There are so many things I’ve wanted to tell you. Nearly told you. But we didn’t ever get close to having those sorts of conversations and when I wanted to tell you about myself I got scared and ran away. Not physically of course. Mentally, like.”
Still the hesitancy. My life is your life. That’s causing my heartrate to hammer all the way up into my throat.
“Truth is, I barely remember her. I can’t picture her, even when I look at the photos. But I know she would’ve only wanted me to be happy. And I am.”
You allow your right leg to drop fractionally so it lies alongside my left. I could put my hand around your thigh. No, don’t do that.
I sat on a patio with Danny once – was it not so long ago, or centuries ago? – and I was drowning in a situation I’d never wanted to create. On that evening I experimented with touch and ended up floundering in deeper waters because my actions only confirmed to him that I wanted more from him. I didn’t. Now, tonight, I’m afraid to use touch again because this time I do want it to go further and it’s one of the scariest secrets I’ve ever had. It’s like this every time we sit or stand next to each other. My mother – she knows this. I don’t know how, but she does. And how can I tell you these thoughts? What will you think of me? I’m a nice girl. A good girl. I’m your nice, good girl.
So we just sit like that for a while, like neither of us is sure where to take it from here.